July 16, 2018:
While we each gained weight, certainly for similar reasons, it's really true that hers was far more severe.
I would estimate that at age 40 she weighed about 130 pounds, but by age 50 it was 230. She was obese.
It frightened me. I'm not sure I can explain why. To me, she was no longer herself. She was the same personality but the reality we lived in was radically warped, in the same way I felt that so much of the rest of my life had become incorrect.
I didn't want to touch her anymore. I never liked touching her anyway. Now I was reluctant to accept even hugs.
My weight gain was more like fifteen pounds, but it coincided with muscle loss from inactivity, so that my appearance became infirm. I looked droopy: jowly, jiggly, pear-shaped. I'd never looked like that.
We had more than weight gain in common. Severe sleep disruption, where for some periods I was sleeping one or two hours in 24. I think it was similar for her. Not cleaning, either our homes or ourselves. I'd go for weeks without showering, or washing my clothes. I just didn't see the point. Uncombed hair: hers in an unattractive perm, mine an unattractive ponytail. Social isolation: not communicating, not leaving the house. Radical lack of sunlight or exercise. She was unable to walk more than half a block. I added drug addiction to the cocktail, while she'd had cigarettes for decades.
Same root. Congenital depression. Brain damage, I'm sayin'. We was fucked up, and untreated.
It shows. You can see it all over us. Despite the false smiles we wore at all times in public.